


The Flutist

by JoachimNapoleon (UselessGoats)



Category: Alternate Universe - Fandom, Modern AU - Fandom, Napoleonic Era RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Flute - Freeform, Gen, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UselessGoats/pseuds/JoachimNapoleon
Summary: Michel Ney develops an unexpected friendship, and passes his love of the flute down to the next generation in the process.
Relationships: Caroline Bonaparte/Joachim Murat
Kudos: 6





	The Flutist

[Age: 1]

Michel Ney can’t remember the last time he’s been stared down this hard by a baby. But he is prepared to give as good as he gets; blue eyes lock on to blue eyes. The contest commences.

He hasn’t spent much time around this one-year-old who bears such a striking resemblance to her father. In addition to sharing his eyes (both in color and mischief), little Louise Murat has also inherited Joachim’s dark, curly hair, rounded chin, and thickset lips.

 _His attention span, too,_ apparently, Ney thinks, as the baby quickly grows bored with the stare-down; the wide blue eyes shift upwards. Settling on Ney’s hair, they widen yet further.

Murat, holding the squirming child, grins at Ney.

“You’re the first redhead she’s ever seen.”

Ney can’t help but smile.

A plump little arm stretches towards him. A stream of incomprehensible baby gibberish babbles forth.

“I think she wants to touch your hair,” Murat interprets without missing a beat. “Is that okay?”

Ney chuckles. “Sure, why not.”

Murat gently lowers baby Louise, guiding her wobbly steps–she has only recently started walking–across the narrow gap on the sofa between the two men. A moment later she latches onto Ney’s shoulder, mouth agape in wonder as she continues studying the red hair intently.

“Bababababa,” Louise says, staring Ney in the face.

“My, aren’t you a talkative one,” Ney replies. “Just like your Papa.” He gives her a wink.

“She is indeed,” Murat says proudly.

A tiny hand reaches towards Ney’s hair.

“Gently, sweetheart,” says Murat.

“It’s okay,” Ney reassures him.

Her face full of wonder, baby Louise pets and pats the strange red hair, narrating the exploration with a series of random coos and gurgles. Murat is smiling in delight; he pulls out his cellphone to take a picture–no, a video! Caroline and Aglaé will both love this!

Ney is beaming too–until Louise suddenly grabs a fistful of his hair and gives it a much sharper yank than he would expect from a one-year-old.

“AHHH-D-D-D-D-D” Ney grits his teeth, bending down slightly towards the baby to alleviate the pulling. He sees Louise opening her mouth wide and– _Wait, is she trying to–_

Yes. Louise is trying to eat his hair. 

“JOAC–”

But Murat has already dropped the phone and is hastily reaching over to gently extract Louise’s hand from Ney’s hair, scooping the baby up into his arms. The little girl looks, for a moment, as if she is about to cry–she flails towards Ney, whining–but Murat is an expert at this sort of thing, and has her distracted and laughing again in no time. 

Twenty minutes later, Murat has to take a phone call. 

“Go on,” Ney says. “I can keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks.”

By the time he returns, the reconciliation is complete: Louise is sound asleep, snuggling against (and drooling on) Ney’s shoulder. She hadn’t even tried to eat his hair again.

Murat reaches out tentatively. “Here, I can–”

–Ney shoots him an indignant look, unconsciously pulling the slumbering baby away from her father.

“Um. Okay then,” Murat says, chuckling as he runs a hand through his hair. “Just, you know, make sure to give her back to me eventually.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotten pretty attached to her.”

 _That makes two of us_. He and Aglaé have four sons, but no daughters. He’d always hoped a girl would come along for them eventually, but it didn’t seem to be in the cards. Now all of a sudden, tiny Louise Murat, with her wild curls and curious blue eyes and grabby little hands, has stolen his heart.

Either Ney’s face is betraying his thoughts far more than he means for it to, or Murat is a mind-reader.

“Tell you what,” Murat says with a knowing smile. “How ‘bout if we share?”

“Deal.”

***

[Age: 6]

Ney has been invited to a tea party. 

Although he isn’t entirely sure whether “invited” is the right word.

Actual invitations can be declined. But Louise has no sooner “invited” Ney to the tea party than she takes him by the wrist and begins dragging him up the stairs. He looks down at BunBun, being likewise dragged along by Louise’s other hand. The giant, floppy stuffed rabbit has been Louise’s favorite toy since Murat brought him home from a recent trip to an amusement park with Ney and Lannes. Apparently BunBun has been “invited” to the tea party too.

“Is there going to be room for both me and BunBun?” Ney asks.

“Yes,” Louise says. “It’s a _big_ table. And you’re my special guest!”

“I thought BunBun was your special guest?”

“BunBun lives here,” Louise says dismissively. “You’re my special, SPECIAL guest.”

“Well then,” Ney says, “I consider myself honored.”

They finally reach the top of the stairs and Louise opens the door to Letitia’s room, where all the tea parties are hosted. 

Already seated at the table are Letitia, Mr. Bear, and Murat, the latter scrunched precariously into a pink plastic chair that is clearly _much_ too small for him.

“Greetings!” Murat says with a broad grin. “I take it Louise invited you?”

“Indeed,” Ney confirms with a nod. “I’m a special, _special_ guest.”

***

[Age: 10]

Ney’s fingers flutter expertly over the keys of his flute; the cheerful notes of Bach’s _Partita in A Minor_ peal through the air. It is a difficult piece, but also a long-time favorite, and after playing it for so many years, he has little need to reference the sheet music in front of him anymore.

He had fallen in love with the instrument at twelve years old. The only boy in his school band to choose the flute, Ney had endured some teasing from his peers for picking what they considered a “girl’s instrument,” but it had never fazed him. In his eyes, it was their loss for not being able to appreciate the flute’s beauty and versatility.

By high school he was the best flutist in his class, and his talents ended up earning him a college scholarship. In college, they helped him charm Aglaé, who played the clarinet in the college orchestra. And the rest was history; as far as he was concerned, Ney could trace all of his current happiness to learning to play the flute during his childhood.

He had hoped one of his sons would develop a liking for it as well, but so far they were all gravitating to–Ney grimaces inwardly–the brass section. _Where did I go wrong?_

Ney concludes the final notes of the piece, and is startled to hear applause. He turns to see Murat and little Louise, clapping happily from the doorway.

“That was so pretty Uncle Michel!” Louise exclaims.

“Incredible!” says Murat. “Why have I never heard you play before?”

Ney blushes. “I rarely play in public anymore. Thanks though, I’m glad you liked it.”

“Well you absolutely _should_ play in public more! Our friends would love to hear it! Isn’t that right, darling?” he asks Louise.

“Papa is right! You play so good!” the ten-year-old says.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“May I hold the flute? I’ve never held a flute before.”

“Yes, of course!” Ney hands Louise the flute. The child studies the instrument in rapt fascination, running her littlefingers over the intricate keys and tubes.

“Next year she’ll be old enough to play in the school band,” Murat says. 

“Oh yeah? Has she chosen an instrument yet?”

Murat looks down at his daughter, who is still captivated by the flute. He smiles.

“Possibly.”  
  
***

[Age 11]

The following year when Murat informed Ney that Louise had, indeed, decided she wanted to learn to play the flute for the school band, Ney had scarcely been able to contain his joy. 

“Also,” Murat began, “she’s wondering if you’d be willing to teach her some of the basics, before her formal lessons begin next month?”

“Tell her I would be delighted to.”

Sitting in the Murats’ beautiful garden now, he has, so far, taught Louise how to put the flute together, what all the various parts are called, how to clean the instrument, how to hold it, and proper posture. Now, for the most important part: how to make the sound come out.

He shows her how to form the necessary embouchure–the positioning of the lips in relation to the blowhole of the flute–and demonstrates with his own flute: a clear, sonorous B-flat emanates through the garden. 

Louise tries to copy his face, and blows into her flute.

PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH.

She tries again.

PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH.

And again.

PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH.

Louise is dismayed. It isn’t working! Is her flute broken?

She hands the instrument to Ney; he holds it up, arranges his embouchure, and plays another B-flat.

“Your flute works perfectly,” he says reassuringly.

Louise tries again and again, over and over, but still fails to get any sound to come out of the flute. Ney can see that she is getting frustrated.

“Don’t be discouraged,” he tells her. “This is usually the hardest part for every beginner.”

“Was it hard for you too?”

“Oh yes. It took me _hours_ to do it right the first time. And multiple lessons. I was in total despair after a while, but then I just… did it. Somehow. And once I made that first note, I didn’t have any problems doing it again. It was like something had just clicked, and now I could play the flute. So, don’t worry. You’ll get it eventually, I promise. We’re not going to give up. Okay?”

“Okay.”

A little over an hour later, the PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH suddenly morphs into a resounding OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Louise lowers the flute, staring at Ney with wide eyes.

“Uncle Michel!! I did it!!! I’m playing the flute!!!!” she raises the flute again and, making the same embouchure as before, plays a full, crystal-clear note. 

Ney turns away just for a brief instant, to wipe away a sudden, unexpected tear.

***

Ney makes his way towards the front row, his eyes finding Murat’s curly hair in the dim light of the school auditorium. 

“Glad you could make it!” Murat greets him. “Caroline and I saved you a seat.”

“Thank you,” Ney says, sitting down beside his friend. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Louise has been working very hard for the past six months, and tonight is her first concert with the school band. Additionally–and Murat had barely able to contain his excitement when he’d told Ney–she was going to be performing a duet with another student. The band instructor had been so delighted with the progress of both girls so far, that he wanted to give them a moment in the spotlight to showcase their developing talents. 

“Is she nervous?” Ney asks.

“Honestly, I think she’s more nervous about playing in front of _you_ than anything,” Murat chuckles. 

Ney grins. “I can’t imagine why. We practice together all the time!”

“Yes, exactly. She’s worried she’s going to mess up and disappoint you.”

“No, that won’t happen,” Ney says firmly. 

The concert begins. While the band of eleven- and twelve-year-olds performs its ensemble, Caroline dutifully records it on her phone, Murat sniffles and wipes his teary eyes with a handkerchief throughout, and Ney wallows in nostalgia, vividly remembering his own days playing with the school band. He smiles at the sight of Louise, so poised for her age, playing every song without missing a beat, as if she’d been in the band for years.

“My little princess,” Murat wibbles during the break between pieces, falling apart into the handkerchief again. Caroline smiles and runs her fingers through his hair, but Ney can’t help but notice her own eyes are glistening in the darkness of the auditorium.

“You should’ve seen him when Letitia played the Butterfly Queen in her first school play,” Caroline tells Ney.

Murat gives a shuddering sob into the handkerchief at the memory; Ney, shoulders shaking, conceals his laughter behind a hand. 

Now it is time for Louise’s duet. She is introduced to the audience. Only the firm hand of Caroline on his forearm keeps Murat from springing up out of his chair to cheer for his daughter.

“Don’t embarrass her, dearest,” Caroline whispers reprovingly.

“Right. Sorry,” Murat says sheepishly.

Louise and her companion begin playing Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” with the band instructor accompanying them on the piano. 

Ney smiles. The Ninth Symphony has always held a special place in his heart, and now it is going to be even _more_ special.

Louise hits every note perfectly. 

The audience applauds after the girls finish their performance. Louise curtseys, lighting up at the sight of her parents and Uncle Michel in the front row. She gives them a wave before returning to her seat with the rest of the band. 

Murat is a mess. But Ney is surprised to find his own face suddenly wet too. He fumbles through his pockets for a tissue. _Damn it all. Probably should’ve anticipated this_.

Murat hands him a handkerchief.

“I always bring a spare,” he explains.

“Thanks.” _Maybe I should too._ What is happening to him? He’s slowly turning into Murat–a big, blubbery, walking catastrophe. _Oh God_.

After the concert, he stoops to give Louise a hug. 

“Did I do good, Uncle Michel?”

“You were _brilliant_ , my dear. I’m more proud of you than I can possibly put into words.”

Louise is beaming. She hopes he’ll come with Papa and Mama to all her concerts from now on.

“As your special guest?” Ney asks. 

“My special, SPECIAL guest.”

Murat claps him on the shoulder cheerfully. 

“In that case,” he says, “you might want to order some handkerchiefs.”

***THE END***


End file.
